


The Pearl of Pontentatus

by Sunshine_lollipops_and



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Magic Revealed, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-23 16:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30058473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine_lollipops_and/pseuds/Sunshine_lollipops_and
Summary: A mystery illness, a kingdom threatening war, and a missing magical object. What could go wrong?
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Merlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This story will be my first attempt at a longer Merlin fic. I've been rewatching (cannot recommend enough) and I wanted to write something a little closer in tone to the show, with a lot of banter and humour but also a semi decent plot lol. I've got the story entirely mapped and about half written, and I'm hoping to update approx every week. Most of the other chapters are a decent bit longer than this one, but here's your starter. I hope you enjoy!

_The Pearl of Potentatus is a magical object with the power to control a victim's mind._

_Once activated by a High Priestess, it's power can be harnessed by any sorcerer to control the actions and thoughts of its victim, gradually draining their life force until they are but a vessel for the caster's commands._

_Once the crowning jewel in the wedding tiara of High Priestess Iphigenie, it is a small, orange gemstone. When on Iphigenie's wedding night she found her fiance with another woman, she killed him in a fit of rage, and set the blood soaked crown alight in a fire._

_When the gold coronet burned away, the gem remained, now endowed with powers to control others. Before her death, Iphigenie hid the Pearl, by some accounts in the Cave of Ignis, so that one day another betrayed woman may exact her revenge._

* * *

" _MERLIN!"_

Ah, the sweet calls of Prince Prat.

Merlin groans, unsticking his face from his pillow.

"Merlin, get up!"

Gods, now Gaius is on his case.

He cracks an eye open as the door bangs open, and Gaius stands before him. Oh hell, the eyebrows.

"Dear gods, the state of this room! You can clean it today too."

The blanket is ripped from him, feeling the cold morning air. And the beginnings of daylight. He's late. Shocking. 

"'m up, 'm up Gaius."

"You'd better be! The council meeting starts in half an hour!"

* * *

He staggers into Arthur's chambers five minutes later, bumping the door open with his hip, breakfast tray in hand. 

Arthur is at the table, flicking through papers in preparation for the meeting. He throws last night's goblet at Merlin without even looking up.

"Good morning to you too, Sire," he says, ducking with practiced ease, "sleep well?"

Arthur states at him with his jaw set.

"Merlin, will you ever learn to be on time? I cannot sleep through a council meeting!"

"Arthur, you know what they say," he says, frowning in mock concern as he sets down the tray, "not getting enough sleep is a big cause of weight gain, and you just can't afford-"

He gets a candlestick to the face this time.

"Are you hung over?"

Of course Gaius told him he was in the tavern. He was _actually_ out in the woods until three in the morning trying to retrieve some bloody magical stone from.... Guess who! That's right, a deranged revenge bent sorcerer. So original. And then it turned out the sorcerer didn't even have the stone on him anymore, so Merlin had fallen into bed at half three, pissed off, bruised, and absolutely knackered. Only to be accused of being _hung over..._. Ungrateful prats.

"No, just a late night."

Arthur raises an eyebrow.

"I'm sure. And I'm sure Gwaine will have the same excuse."

It's too early for this.

* * *

"Gwen!"

Gwen spins round to smile at him.

"Merlin!"

She's preparing the council chambers, scraping the last of the venison off the wall after Lord Edwin's birthday last night.

He joins her, pulling out the spare chairs from the cupboard.

"Did you have breakfast this morning, Merlin? You look tired, and I know you don't-"

He laughs warmly. He's got his work cut out lately, what with her, half the knights, and Gaius constantly onto him about his health after that _one_ _time_ he caught red fever, got dizzy and fell down the stairs. As long as they don't join forces, Merlin's fine.

"I'm fine, Gwen," he smiles, "what about you? I know Uther's been more... difficult, lately."

She looks round, in case of any early councilmen.

"He's getting worse," she whispers, "and I don't things he's long left for this world Merlin. And it's killing Arthur too."

It was. More and more responsibility on his shoulders, without any more official recognition. But anyone (who knew about them) could see the affect Gwen was having. Merlin was normality, but Gwen was therapy.

"I can finish this up," he says, "you go and take the morning off."

She smiles.

"I'll have to look in on Uther before lunch, but thank you Merlin. Look after yourself, I don't see you enough anymore."

* * *

Merlin has many great skills. Possibly the most powerful magic in the world. Commander of dragons. Not a bad physician. And most importantly of all, the talent of going half to sleep during the pompous pontificating of a council full of nobles. Gods were they boring. He turns back in after an hour or so of debate on crop rotation (thrilling, really) when the discussion turns.

Arthur is leading the meeting, Uther only King in name most days now.

"Sir Roger, we are glad to see you returned safely from Wessex. Your report, for the council?"

Merlin looks up in suprise. He hadn't realised Roger was back, and the messages he'd sent in the last weeks had been cryptic at best.

"Sire," he says, inclining his head, "I spent three weeks in the town of Wessex, on our eastern borders. We received word from them that they had been struck by an unknown illness. There have been no deaths, but it is certainly no exaggeration the devastation; at least one hundred are ill. In our final week, the two guards accompanying me fell ill, as did the town's physician." 

Gaius looks troubled, as does the rest of the council. Arthur nods.

"My lords, I think you'll agree this calls for further investigation."

There's a general murmur of assent across the board.

"Gaius, your opinion?"

"Well Sire, Sir Roger has mentioned the defining points of the illness; a rash, high fever, fatigue, and yet no deaths, though we cannot presume we will remain so lucky. If it is as contagious as it seems, the disease could reach Camelot by the winter. This will need to be addressed before it strikes the entire kingdom. And with their own physician incapacitated.... I'd advice swift action, my Lord."

Arthur nods. 

"How soon can you leave, Gaius?"

Gaius sighs.

"My Lord, I'd like to propose we send my apprentice, Merlin, instead."

He'd like to _what_?

"There has been a severe outbreak of sweating sickness in the lower town, and I cannot in good conscience leave while I am needed here."

"But can't Merlin manage the sweating sickness, and you ride to Wessex?"

"Merlin has never contracted the sweating sickness, while I have, and so he would be more likely to fall ill. Also, I must admit, I am not as young as I was, and the three day ride to Wessex would be far longer for me."

Agravaine looks disgusted. 

"But the people of Wessex!" he says, "Surely this is a job for a skilled physician, Gaius, not an untrained boy?"

Gaius turns his eyebrows on him.

"My Lord, Merlin has been my apprentice for almost five years now, and time and time again be has proven himself not only able but talented. He takes a great deal of responsibility day to day, and has handled everything from breech childbirth to complicated poisons. If you cannot trust him, you cannot trust me."

A moment of absolute silence. A couple of the lords turn to look at Merlin, and he tries to school his face into quiet confidence, instead of _oh my gods Gaius what on earth are you signing me up for?????_

"Merlin delivered my son," says Lord Aldersmith, braving the silence, "and saved my wife even while she bled profusely afterwards. From my eye, he is most skilled."

"And he tended to me when I contracted red fever," adds Lord Nolbert, "He must have been run off his feet with the rate of infections, but he was never anything but wholly pleasant, reassuring, and confident."

"And he saved my own life when I was shot by a crossbow," says Sir Goldburn, "it was a truly grievous injury, but thanks to his swift action and expert knowledge, I was not to die on a hunting trip!"

Merlin tries not to smile. It's rare he gets such glowing praise, especially from noblemen. Doesn't take away from the fact that he's absolutely _wetting himself_ at the prospect of going alone, with no way to contact Gaius other than riding three days back to Camelot. 

"Those in favour?" Arthur calls.

Almost all, bar Agravaine. Merlin's legs shake a little.

"That's settled then," Arthur says, "now, who will travel with him."

"My Lord," says Leon, "I would volunteer. I have travelled to Wessex before, and I know some of the townspeople."

"Excellent, Sir Leon. Thank you. I will ask another knight to join you. Most are at training currently, so if you would settle that later?"

Leon nods.

"Right," says Arthur, "next on the agenda?"

Merlin zones out again from here, trying not to outwardly panic while he refills the men's goblets, many of them giving him a kindly nod or wink as he does so. There is one thing to be said about being a servant: the invisibility is blessed. 

He tunes back in once again when a messenger enters the hall.

"My Lord, a message from the King of Threston!"

Arthur nods.

"The party has travelled through the town of Wessex, but one of their men has fallen ill. They fear travelling any further Inn case of spreading the illness beyond Wessex."

"So they will be late?"

"No Sire," says the messenger, "they intend to quarantine indefinitely. They do not wish to risk the health of Camelot."

"But they are unwilling to postpone the talks?"

"No, my Lord. They still demand that the matters are resolved, or there will be war."

Arthur closes his eyes briefly.

"It seems that I too will be travelling to Wessex."

The chambers break out in loud voices, arguing risus louder and louder until Arthur clears his throat.

"I will hear your concerns," he says, "but I think you all understand that this is necessary."

"My Liege" cries Lord Laralt, "you cannot risk catching some unknown illness!"

"Not to mention that it is not Threston that should make demands of Camelot!" says Elrond, "it is their fault for travelling through an infected town!"

Arthur sighs.

"Councilmen, do you doubt that that Threston would declare war should I decline?"

Heads shake.

"Then I will do what I must to spare bloodshed."

"Can you not send another to negotiate?" asks Gerand, but it's clear he knows already what the answer must be.

"My father has warned me of the King of Threston," says Arthur, "he would do anything to deceive us, to catch us out. I must go myself."

There is silence again.

"I think that concludes or meeting for today," Arthur says finally, and Merlin follows him out the doors.

* * *

Gaius enters Arthur's chambers soon after they arrive, and Merlin wastes no time.

"Gaius what are you doing? I can't diagnose and treat some unknown illness with no help!"

"Merlin," Arthur says, brows furrowed, "you do realise, that you are the official apprentice to the Court Physician? That is a ranking position, and going to treat an outlying town is not unheard of."

"In fact," Gaius agrees, "it's an important part in the training of a physician. A trial by fire."

"Ok firstly," Merlin says in shock, "you're joking, with the official apprentice bollocks, right? Because Gaius I help you out, but I am just a _servant_. You can't gamble the lives of an _entire town_ on a few times I've been lucky! Dear gods, Gaius I can't even- I don't even-"

His vision starts to blur a little now, and he rather belatedly comes to realise that he may not be breathing.

_Another stunning diagnosis from official physician's apprentice Merlin!_

He blinks again and realises he must have lost some time there, because now he's sat on Arthur's bed and Gaius is holding his head to his knees and telling him to _breathe, Merlin, for god's sake._ Right _._

He gasps in a breath, and looks up again. Both Gaius and Arthur are crouched in front of him.

"Merlin," says Arthur, "if you really don't want to go, I won't make you."

And he didn't even call him a cowardly girl. Merlin would warm up a little inside if it wasn't for the shallow breaths he was still struggling to take.

"Merlin," says Gaius, "I did not exaggerate in the council chambers. I do not know how you do not realise that you have a talent for the healing arts. I volunteered you because I trust you. The _only_ concern I have about sending you is that you will not take care of yourself!"

Merlin lets out a shaky laugh.

"Really?"

"Really." Smiles Gaius. "And if things get to be too much, you can send word and I swear to you I'll come straight away. But I have faith in you, Merlin. I think you are ready."

Arthur presses a goblet of water in his hands (the same goblet he threw at him this morning.)

"Now that you've stopped being a big girls petticoat," he says, "you have packing to do. We ride at dawn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know that the "we ride at dawn" is absolutely a reference to the Big Bird "we ride at dawn bitches!" meme, a fave of mine. All my love to you for reading! Xxxxxx


	2. Merlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! From here on in there will be quite a lot about the sickness, which is a little bit relevant at the moment, so if that would upset you please click away. Also should mention now I know nothing at all about medicine or medieval cures, so this is all googling and creative license. Chapter names refer to POV, btw ;)

_An orange gem is pressed into a gloved hand._

_"This is it?"_

_A nod in the dark._

_"Then let us begin."_

* * *

Merlin carries the packs out as the sun peeks out from over the hills. It's going to be a beautiful morning, and it calms his nervous stomach just a little.

There's a small crowd to send them off, the knights, Gwen, Gaius. Gwen speaks to Merlin first, giving him a big hug.

"You're going to be fantastic, Merlin," she says, arms tight around him, "I know you'll look after the others, so just... Please take care of yourself!"

He grins at her.

"Don't I always? Ye of little faith!"

She kisses his cheek, and then goes to speak to Arthur.

Merlin makes his way to the knights. Leon chose Gwaine to come with them, though it's more likely Gwaine blackmailed Leon (who is too noble to be bribed). 

"I hear there are some gorgeous women in Wessex," says Elyan, "and they'll love an intelligent, caring healer. Milk it for all it's worth Merlin, don't waste the opportunity!"

"Well," says Percival, "I hear that the best blackberry pies in the world come from an old lady in Wessex, and you're just in time for berry season, so confirm the legend!"

Two manly hugs later Lancelot comes over.

"Listen Merlin," he says, "make sure you eat there meals a day, and do _not_ skip out on sleep to work! You can't think properly if you're not rested, and-"

Elyan and Percival cackle as Merlin rolls his eyes at Lancelot's lecture.

"You're as bad as Gwen!" He says, "go mother someone else!"

Lancelot hugs him.

Gaius is brief too. They'd worked hard last night to pack all they could, cover some likely possibilities for the illness, and try to stop Merlin from panicking. 

He cups Merlin's face. 

"You will be wonderful, my boy," he says, "I will miss you."

Merlin smiles.

"You're not going to lecture me on taking care of myself?"

Gaius' eyebrows raise.

"I don't think I need remind you of the dressing down you'll get from me if you end up on my patient bed for exhaustion. Because believe me, Merlin, you'll be begging for more away trips if you do!"

They both laugh, and then far too quickly Arthur is shouting, and then they're mounting their horses and riding out into the fresh morning.

* * *

The end of summer is possibly Merlin's favourite time of year. The seemingly endless bright gold that bathes the world as the sun sits on the horizon at sunset is never anything less than breathtakingly beautiful and joyous, mixed with the fresh, open air that fills his lungs at just the right temperature.

The ride comfortably, if on the quick side, hoping to knock their journey down to two and a half days instead of three as the sun sinks lower.

They trade insults, and even Leon loosens up, away from propriety and examples to be set. He's a different man, away from it all, his own stone walls falling away just like Camelot's behind the hills, respectful silence or odd facts about Wessex rising to quietly witty teases and a faint smile.

Gwaine and Arthur are themselves as ever, but it's impossible to miss the loosening of shoulders, the relaxing of jaw. For Arthur more than anyone, Camelot has become a tense fortress. Uther's grip on reality loosens, and yet the lord's leniency for Arthur tightens, expecting more decisiveness, more power, more _Uther_. Even riding to an unknown disease and war talks seems like a break.

* * *

They settle at a clearing of trees, the midges out to bite as the evening settles and the shadows drawing longer.

"Well," says Gwaine, plopping to the floor, "I know you'll all want to be sober once on duty and all... So tonight I've got this!"

He rummages beneath his chainmail, and Merlin wonders if he's just going to pull his trousers down as a prank, until he victoriously reveals a wineskin.

"Gwaine we are _knights_ -"

"Merlin's not, so-"

"Knights and an idiot, we are not going to-"

"Oh don't worry," he grins, "that's not all I have."

And pulls out another wineskin.

Merlin and Leon roar in laughter as Gwaine takes the first sip, passing it round the circle until it reaches a stone faced Arthur.

He sighs. 

And then takes a huge slug of the skin to Gwaines cheers.

"But if you're hungover tomorrow Gwaine..."

"Never."

* * *

"Gods Merlin, for a man who spends half his time in the tavern, you're a right lightweight."

Merlin giggles into Arthur's shoulder. It's such a nice shoulder. Really round, and warm, and just shouldery. And it's helpful, because honestly he's finding it a little tough to sit entirely upright at the moment.

The evening started to go a little quicker after Gwaine broke out the wine. Away from any lords to embarrass himself in front of, Arthur has abandoned his usual self-pacing and is pleasantly tipsy, merry and light. Leon was ruddy in the face and laughing within half an hour, and now he's flat on his back snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

Gwaine is... Gwaine. 

Merlin is a bit sloshed, to be honest. He hadn't quite realised Gwaine was pressing him with the skin a little more than others until he was more than halfway gone. That's the good thing about Gwaine, he can tell when you just need to get a bit drunk.

But it really is the best feeling. To care for nothing, not even be able to care. Earlier in, he'd felt the little cold snake of fear in chest every now and then, and it had risen less and less often until now, and he can't even remember what he was so nervous about. All he knows is that Arthur has a _nice_ shoulder, and Gwaine looks happy, and everything's alright. Gods, it wouldn't be if Gaius were here. He's be sooooo angry. He'd probably dunk his head in cold water again. Or make him clean the leech tank. Or...dunk his head in the leech tank? What if he filled the leech tank with wine? And then the leeches would be happy, and cleaning them would be easier, and-

A hand ruffles his hair. He giggles again.

"Right," says Arthur, but Merlin can tell he's smiling by his tone, "if we were going to be attacked by bandits, they'd have got us by now. Go to sleep."

Merlin stands to go to his bedroll, and immediately falls back on his arse. Well, the grass is comfy enough anyway.

* * *

The next day they are all understandably subdued, and last night is a rather fuzzy memory. He can see his own pounding headache mirrored in Leon's eyes, Gwaine is giving one word replies, and Arthur seems rather pleased at the peace and quiet.

That evening they're all a bit glad to turn in early before they arrive in Wessex tomorrow. Merlin takes first watch.

* * *

There's a snake rising in Merlin's stomach, wrapping around his throat, and he's struggling to think of much else than all the lives that will be (more directly than usual) depending on him. He's not Merlin-the-secret-sorcerer. He's Merlin the trained healer. There is no hiding behind disguises and shadows, he's out in the broad daylight, answering directly to the crown. For a man who dreams of one day being able to be free and recognised for his deeds, he's terrified. 

He'd emptily promised Arthur to wake him within three hours for the next watch. As if he could sleep, half a day from a town that will depend almost completely upon not his magic but his brain and his discipline to save them. Gwaine hovers, and Merlin knows he should be making more of an effort to laugh loudly so as to calm Gwaine's concern, but he can't bring himself to. But now things are quiet again. Not in the literal sense, Arthur can bloody snore, but even his racket pales in comparison to Gwaines. But now there's nobody to chat to (or at, somedays with Arthur). There's nobody to tease, or to try and convince that he's fine, or to just sit with, to take his mind off what's actually happening. Of what he has to do.

Merlin's learned first hand now that he can't save everyone. And Gaius has taught him the philosophies, the sciences of reason, the balance of life and death. That however hard you try some people die, especially in the field of medicine, despite your best efforts. 

There's a terrible power too. Gaius ran him through some books on mass illness and casualties, and of course Merlin has experienced the chaos of red fever epidemics in the town, or scores of injured after a battle. The triage is devastating, deciding who is in enough pain, who has bled enough, who is in dire enough need of his attention when there are one hundred clamouring for help but he only has one pair of hands.

And sometimes, when he must step away even while there is still life in a man, because there is another man beside him with a better chance. When either the woman or the baby will die from childbirth. When a whole family lies ill but can only afford enough medicine for one. These are the decisions that drive a man mad, and they are the ones that keep Merlin awake. Gaius tells him it never becomes easier, and if it does then a heart has hardened. That the choice will always crush, hurt like a physical wound. That it is the curse of being blessed with the gift of healing.

Is he ready for this? There is no Gaius to ask for help. No Gaius to reassure, to teach, to calm. No Gaius to cry with when someone dies in agony. 

He prods the fire, mind spinning on the same circuit for an indefinite amount of time. The embers spark back up again into flame. They die down. They grow bright again.

"Merlin?"

It must be very early morning now, the summer sun threatening to break over the tree line. Arthur is rolling over towards him.

"What time is it? Why have you not woken me?"

"I'm not tired."

Arthur sighs, standing and coming over to him.

"You're not still nervous are you?"

".....No."

Arthur smiles wryly.

"I remember the first treaty my father sent me on. It went wonderfully smoothly."

Merlin looks at him.

"Great to know that I'll be such a fabulous contrast to that."

"No, you idiot," says Arthur, "Merlin, I was... I was so nervous. I puked before the first talk."

Merlin grins.

"I thought any kind of emotion was unbecoming of a nobleman?"

Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Shut up Merlin, I'm trying to be _helpful_. What I'm trying to say is that worrying won't get you anywhere. You'll just feel worse."

"Oh thanks, Sire, I'll just _stop worrying_."

"No, you can't help that. But try and sleep. I promise to you that that _will_ make you feel better."

Merlin grumbles under his breath about being the apparent physician here, but he knows Arthur's right. And when he lies down on Arthur's bedroll, by the warm crackling embers of the fire, he realises he is in fact, rather sleepy.

He'll just close his eyes for five minutes....

* * *

"Come on Merlin, breakfast and the we're off."

Leon's shaking him gently by the shoulder, holding a bowl of something wonderful smelling under his nose.

It's truly morning now, the fire long died down and the sun high in the sky.

Merlin struggles to a sitting position with great difficulty, dragging a palm across his eyes.

"...what?"

Someone starts laughing, and he turns to see Gwaine grinning at him from the horse he's tacking up.

"Not a morning person, eh Merlin? You're a man of fewer words than Percival before breakfast it seems!"

Merlin smiles nonplussedly, thanking Leon for the meal. 

A few minutes later, Arthur's striding back, filled waterskins in his hands.

"Well, Merlin, while you were sleeping the day away like some princess in a fairy tale, we've packed up camp, and I think we're about ready to go."

His face is set in its default setting of _annoyed_ , but Merlin knows it's him who told the others to let him sleep. They've packed up the entire camp, something that he's often left to do alone as the servant. It's a truly kind gesture. He smiles back, finishing up his bowl and getting to his feet.

"Come on then, let's go. I've got a town to cure."

"I think it's me who gives the orders here, Merlin!"

"That's Acting Physician Merlin to you, peasant! Now come on!"

* * *

Wessex is a small town, and it brings back forgotten pangs of homesickness for Ealdor in Merlin. He hasn't seen his mother in quite some time now, and the thought of her flares up unexpectedly some days, striking him with bouts of sadness like some plague it cured by Gaius' hand on his shoulder, or a smile from Gwen. But now's not the time for being melancholy. One thing he's certainly learned from helping Gaius is how to become an objective, emotionless proffesional just for a few hours, when it is necessary to get a job done.

"Hello! You'll not want to come any nearer, unless you intend to stay for a while!"

A weathered looking woman is standing at the gate to the village, a basket in her hands and an apron round her waist. 

"I am Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot," states Arthur, and it's a real skill the way he can just switch back into his pompous royal voice when literally not five seconds ago he was calling Merlin an idiot. What a talent.

"I come with a physician."

Her eyes crease a little sadly.

"Well we are lucky to receive you, my lord. You wouldn't also be here about-?"

"Yes, the delegation from Threston," he nods.

"Is there a place we can leave our belongings before we begin work?"

"Oh yes, of course. Right this way, dearies."

Arthur and Leon both look a little perplexed about being called _dearie_ while in the chainmail and carrying swords, but follow wordlessly.

They dismount and tether their horses at a small house.

"I hope this is suitable," she says kindly, but Merlin can see a spark of steel in her eyes that would bash their heads together if they dared to ask for another lodging. Arthur seems to see it too, swallowing any princely pride and thanking her warmly.

She ushers them in the door.

"You just unpack your things, I'll show you around whenever you are ready."

And with that she's gone.

The house is rather luxurious by Merlin's standard. Two beds, a wooden table, and a fireplace in one homely room. Quite a nice house. 

He unloads the saddlebags as the others poke around, setting all out except for the medicine bag he swings over his shoulder. There's not much to look at really, so they're out the door again before ten minutes can have passed.

The woman's still there.

"Now," she says, "my name is Marjorie. You can ask me for anything you need."

"Is it true the best blackberry pies in the world are baked in Wessex?"

She laughs warmly at Gwaine, and Merlin can almost instantly tell that they share the same shine in their eyes.

"That's not a secret I can just divulge to newcomers, is it? Though you're not a newcomer, Sir Leon, was it? Though it's been a while since we've seen you!"

"Yes, ma'am."

She looks rather fondly at him.

"Now I suppose you two have names too?"

Gwaine is looking more and more pleased the more Marjorie speaks. 

"Sir Gwaine," he grins, sticking out a hand for her to shake.

"Merlin," he says, doing the same.

* * *

It's a fairly simple village layout, rows of similar houses on one side, crop fields on the other. It strikes Merlin that with so many ill, they'll struggle to harvest enough for the winter. He turns to Arthur, but he's already giving an imperceptible nod of understanding.

"Now here is the residence of the Threstian party. I presume you'll want to pay a visit?"

Arthur nods.

"Come with me initially, Leon, Gwaine, but I'll want you to perform a routine survey after the greetings are done. Merlin, you can begin your work alone?"

"Yeah, fine," he says, "good luck with your talks."

"And you." He says, before striding over, flanked by two billowing capes, to the doorman at the Threstian house.

They walk a little further down to the village centre, marked a medium sized hall. 

Marjorie stops.

"The hall is where the sick are. We've been lucky to have two of the younger women resist the illness so far, they're untrained but they are hardworking and diligent, so I hope they are of use to you. I'm afraid I won't go in with you."

"Thank you."

She smiles gently at him.

"Good luck, dearie."

* * *

You can smell the sickness as soon as you enter. Double doors give way to rows and rows of makeshift beds, at least one hundred, all bearing a patient.

Dear gods.

Merlin takes one full breath.

There are two girls on either side of the room, each bent over a patient. They're fairly young, in their late teens perhaps, both strong looking farmhands. They hear him enter, exchange a glance, and then come over.

"Hi," he says, "I'm Merlin, the-"

"The physician from Camelot!"

The girl on the left sticks out a hand to shake. She's tall, with a thick blonde plait down her back.

"I'm Amelia," she says, "and this is Joscelin."

Joscelin extends her hand too. She's got red hair tied back in a scarf, quite a lot shorter and wearing a bright smile.

"Everyone!" Amelia announces to the room at large, "this is Merlin! He's the new physician from Camelot, and he's going to have you all as good as new!"

There's a low murmuring of hellos from around the room, and Merlin gives a small wave to those who open their eyes to peer at him.

"We're not physicians," says Joscelin, "but we've been doing as much as we can. Would you like the grand tour?"

She gestures with ironic grandeur at the hall, and he laughs.

"Lead the way."

"Right," says Amelia, walking up the centre of the hall, "we've got one hundred and four patients as of this morning. No deaths. Eoin, our own healer fell ill about a week ago, so it's just been Joss and I since then, though when he's awake he tries to guide us a bit."

They've reached the opposite end of the hall. There's another exit, and a door leading to a small back room, which Joscelin procures a key for.

"This is the store room," she says, gesturing with a hand, "can't say we have any clue about what most of it is, but Eoin set up with herbs on this wall, some already mixed remedies over here, there's some equipment we daren't touch over here, and oh, the water pump here too."

Merlin takes it all in in grateful suprise. Eoin is clearly an excellent physician just by the organisation of the room alone, it's clearly laid out, methodical, and seriously impressive as just a makeshift camp. Gaius would be impressed.

"This is brilliant," he smiles, "makes my life a lot easier not to have to go and find all my own plants!"

"Well if you do run out, we know enough to find them, Sir," Joscelin says.

"It's Merlin, really. I'm no nobleman. And thank you."

"Well then, you'll have to call me Joss-"

"-And I Mellie."

He's got a team. This already so much less terrible than he anticipated.

"Right then, Joss and Mellie," he grins, "let's get started."

And then begins.

"Hello," he whispers to the first patient he comes to, "I'm Merlin, do you mind if I have a look at you?"

The man is hot with fever, twisting and muttering in the dirty sheets. Upon examination, he has a raised red rash across his upper chest, like a collection of angry boils. His pulse is on the weak side, respirations shallow, and completely unresponsive. 

Merlin bounces around the room, examining every third patient at random, having a little chat with anyone capable of it. They're friendly villagers, and he's certain he'll get to know some of the more lively ones as time goes on.

Quite a few of them are in considerable pain, crying out weakly while he examines them. An aching rash is unpleasant on its own, but with a fever that makes you feel as if you a burning from the inside out, it must be unbearable.

Remarkably similar symptoms all round medically, and more than a few patients grab him by the wrist and tell him to go now before he succumbs to the plague. Nothing like a good welcome.

They're lucky to have had the two women attending to them, but they're on their way to dehydration and malnutrition. Right. Very little he can do so soon about identifying a cause, so the best course of action is lowering fevers, soothing rashes, relieving pain, and hydrating. That he can do.

He goes back into the back room, sorting through the shelves for-

Ah. There it is. A hazel and camomile salve. He gives it a tentative sniff, and it's perfectly good, recently made. Another quick search-and-sniff procures him a light willow pain reliever. He draws a clean bucket of water from the pump, adds some sugar, and then calls Joss and Mellie back over.

"Right," he says, "you've been doing a fantastic job, and you've undoubtedly prevented deaths so far with all you've done."

The two beam at him.

"So there's a few things I'd like to start on before I know much more. This salve is made of hazel and camomile, for the rashes. Fevered patients may take to itching, which could break the skin and lead to infection, which we don't want. If you see any bleeding, tell me and I'll come and take a look. This water is sugared, which will help raise the glucose levels of our patients, give then a little more strength with which to fight. Rouse any you can to drink, and I'll help with any who won't. I'll give a little pain relief to some of the patients too, but don't concern yourselves with that. I'd like to take some samples to test so we can determine a cause, but I'll be back to help you soon enough. Alright?"

They nod eagerly, taking the items from him and getting straight to work, and Merlin feels a flush of confidence. Their implicit trust is a bit exciting.

He takes blood from the most unresponsive, mostly to dodge the usual hysteria of drawing a vial: even the most sickly patient can often jump up and run a mile when faced with a needle.

But he retrieves a few samples, and has them infusing and brewing with various plants within an hour. He'll have one or two results as soon as morning. 

He mixes an extra batch of the salve, for they'll undoubtedly go through it quickly with so many to treat, and with everything looking secure and unlikely to explode, he leaves the backroom and gets to work.

"Merlin? Could you help me with the bleeding here?"

Mellie watches carefully as he cleans the scratches and binds then in linens and honey.

"You're not very old, for a physician."

He laughs softly.

"I've been an apprentice since I was your age. I'm not fully qualified just yet."

She nods as they move on to another patient.

"You live in Camelot?"

"Yes, I'm the Prince's servant," he says, trying to rouse an old man to drink, "no, he's not waking. I'll show you now how to do it if they won't wake."

He lifts the man gently, holding him upright while Mellie brings the cup to his lips.

"So if you pour just a little bit... That's it. And you see how I massage his throat? It stimulates his muscles to swallow, so that he won't choke."

"Are you married?" She asks casually, and Merlin chokes back a laugh. Oh dear gods.

"No, but I'm busy with my work."

She nods, a tiny smile creeping up her lips.

He glances out the window.

"Oh you'd best be going, it looks to be nearing sundown. I didn't mean to keep you so long."

"It's no worry," she says, batting eyelashes. Oh god.

"Thanks for your help today! I'll see you in the morning!"

Joss smiles too, waving a goodbye, before Mellie grabs her arm and begins whispering furiously in her ear. The two erupt in giggles as they walk out. 

"You'll want to watch out for her, lad. Tall young thing like you is at high risk from teenage girls."

A man is blinking fever bright eyes open from near to where he stands.

Merlin laughs nervously.

"No, she's a good lass really, both of them are. But she's mad for the fellas. You're the physician from Camelot?"

"Yeah," he says, coming to his bedside, "how did you know?"

"I heard Gaius had taken on an apprentice," he sighs, wiping sweat off his brow, "I hope you listen well to him. He's one of the most talented healers in the land."

"Um, yes Sir, I do. Do you...?"

"Sorry," he laughs tiredly, "should've introduced myself. I'm Eoin. The physician."

"Oh gosh," says Merlin, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise."

"It's alright. Your name, son?"

"Merlin."

"Nice to meet you Merlin. Now sit down, tell me all that you've seen with your young fresh eyes, and then I'll tell you what I know."

Writing speeches for Arthur as well as his education from Gaius has Merlin well versed in how to structure a report, and what scientific terms are best used for accuracy. Eoin nods while he speaks.

"Yeah, I mean I can't disagree with anything you've said. And this is...A hazel salve? I was using the same, it seems to work."

"But the cause," Merlin says, "what of that?"

Eoin looks carefully around, and then shrewdly at Merlin.

"Well you're an apprentice of Gaius, so I'm sure we can speak of magic."

Merlin glances surreptitiously around himself before nodding shortly.

"I am yet uncertain. A month and a half since our first patient, and remarkably similar symptoms yet no deaths? It's odd. I didn't get a chance to carry out every test I would like, though I'm sure you will. But I would not rule out a magical cause."

Merlin nods.

"You're welcome to all I have in the backroom, I trust you know your way around the equipment, but ask if you need. Now, I've kept you long enough."

"Thank you," Merlin smiles, and continues in his work.

* * *

"Merlin?"

He half jumps out of his skin, and turns to see Leon trying not to laugh.

"Sorry, it's a bit quiet isn't it?"

"Yeah," agrees Merlin, smiling back. "Everything alright?"

"Well that's what I was here to ask you. It's late, are you coming back to the house?"

Merlin glances out the window, and he's supposed to see it's almost completely dark out.

"Oh I'm sorry Leon, I didn't even realise it was so late. I'll be back soon, I'll just finish up here." 

"I'll wait for you," says Leon with a smile.

Damn. Lancelot definitely taught him that trick, because Merlin had no intention of leaving anytime soon, but he can't force Leon to stay up too.

He washes his hands of the salve, and gathers his things, whispering good nights to all the patients as he passes.

"So," he begins, "how are things looking with King what's-his-name?"

He worries he's pushed solemn Leon too far with a joke that challenges propriety, but he laughs softly.

"Friendly enough, for a man threatening war. I'm hoping to hear more myself from Arthur."

"Well, at least he's not trying to kill you. Yet."

"Exactly. The only war I'm concerned about at present is due to leaving Gwaine and Arthur alone together."

* * *

The house is warm now, something cooking on the fire in the corner.

"Merlin!" 

"Alright?" He smiles, as Gwaine walks over, smacking him heartily on the shoulder.

"Dinners just ready," he says, "I'm playing mother today."

Arthur laughs.

"Only because Lancelot threatened to kill you if Merlin looks too skinny when we get back."

Merlin rolls his eyes indignantly.

"I am perfectly capable of-"

Leon claps a hand on his shoulder.

"Lies aren't becoming of you, Merlin."

Gwaine masks his sniggers as he serves the stew.

* * *

They sit at the creaky wooden table to eat, all four too starving to make conversation until the last scrapings of the meal have been licked up.

"So," begins Gwaine, "I guess this is the time to get the scoop. The gossip. The low down. The-"

"Yes Gwaine, thank you," sighs Arthur.

"Ladies first then, princess," Gwaine winks.

"Alright then. Merlin?"

Merlin huffs with irritation, far to mature to grace that with acknowledgement. 

"Yes, your ladyship." 

Arthur rolls his eyes.

"There are two women there, helping, so we got plenty done, but really I had a look around, took some samples to test, and spoke with the previous physician. Straight off, I can't say I have any strong idea of the cause. It's not dissimilar to many illnesses, high fever, rash, usual symptoms. But there's no congestion, ruling out lung fever, the symptoms develop too quickly for red fever, and the the sweating sickness bares no rash. I'm hoping the tests I'll carry out in the samples will point me in the right direction. For now, I'm just trying to relieve pain and prevent anyone from dying of dehydration or fever seizures."

Arthur nods. 

"Nothing to suggest..."

"Magic? I can't say."

He takes a breath.

"Good work Merlin. Well, Leon and Gwaine, anything?"

Leon shakes his head.

"An altogether typical town, Sire. Pleasant folks, no concerning crime lately, steady crop yield."

"Now come on," says Gwaine, rubbing his hands together excitedly, "tell us about the Threstians! You know that's where the really juicy info is."

Arthur rolls his eyes, but there's little bite behind it.

"Very little said or done today, I'm afraid. Mostly introductions and pleasantries. The bottom line is that we must negotiate a new treaty. Our last one has expired, after standing for twenty years, and Threston has new demands. King Purness is... Ambitious. Threston is not a large state, so it's clear he will attempt to gain trading passage to Camelot that could grow his wealth. But war is not usually an immediate threat in a simple treaty... He clearly means business."

A more reflective silence. One of the many things Gwaine can't handle.

He stands up, slapping his hands on his hips decisively.

"Come on, I'm knackered, and all I want is to go to sleep with a beautiful woman... Leon, want to share?"

Leon rolls his eyes while the others guffaw, but agrees amiably. 

"That means you're with the princess, Merlin. Think you'll survive the smell?"

Merlin catches a flicker of discomfort on Arthur's face.

"It's alright, I can just sleep on the floor."

"Told you!" Says Gwaine, exasperatedly triumphant, "literally zero self-preservation. You have to force the man to not die."

Arthur rolls his eyes. 

"You can share with me, Merlin," he says, "but if you have bad dreams, I'm not cuddling you."

* * *

Gwaine's snoring within five minutes, Leon not long after. Years of hunts have taught Merlin that Arthur will fall asleep in an instant unless there's something on his mind. He's breathing slowly, but Merlin's not fooled.

"What's the matter?" He whispers in the dark.

Arthur rolls over to face him.

"I don't trust King Purness."

Fair enough. Merlin hasn't met the man yet, but his reputation precedes him. They say more than a few of his advisors have gone mysteriously missing after publicly disagreeing with him, similarly to the three of his five wives who've also disappeared after reaching a certain age. 

But it's not his private dealings theyre concerned with presently. A king is a different man at home and at a treaty, Merlin knows that all too well.

"Do you think he's trying to trick you?"

Arthur considers this, lips pursed.

"I think he's trying to figure me out. Exploit something for his own gains. I don't think he's here for peace."

It's troubling, Merlin thinks. So many things could be worked out if people just wanted them too. And it's usually just pride that prevents it.

"What of the ill?"

"They're in so much pain," he sighs, "and science is slow. I fear that the lack of deaths will not hold."

Arthur nods.

"Go to sleep. Long day tomorrow."

Merlin shifts into a more comfortable position.

"Night."

* * *

He doesn't sleep much, and not particularly well, but Arthur seems to have benefitted from the talk as his breaths even out within the hour.

Arthur throws an arm over him in his sleep, and Merlin accepts the warmth, closing his eyes as the first threats of sun dance on the windowsill.

Busy day tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is I hope the last major exposition one, so the plot can begin to thicken from here! Thanks for reading, lots of love! Xxxxx


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